


In the Name of King and Country...

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-03
Updated: 2010-08-03
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:45:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hornblower runs into a problem when a less-than-promising midshipman (given commission by Hornblower himself) proves to have a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Name of King and Country...

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

“Enter,” Hornblower nearly snarled in response to the knock at his door. It was a bad time to disturb him. Bush entered sheepishly, his craggy face betraying his embarrassment at having to disturb the commodore.

“What is it, Mr. Bush?”

Hornblower’s stern gaze should have been more than enough to loosen the captain’s lips, but it seemed as though Bush had forgotten how to speak.

“Out with it, man!” Hornblower was in no mood.

“Beggin’ your pardon, s-sir,” Bush stammered, “but…there’s a…situation.”

“A situation, Mr. Bush?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Bush stepped forward to reveal Mr. Hoffbrau.

Hornblower’s head was swimming. Hoffbrau wasn’t exactly at the top of his class; he could barely tell the difference between a bowline and the bow, but the look on his and Bush’s faces suggested that it was not merely the midshipman’s poor seamanship at play.

“Hoffbrau?” Hornblower grunted. “Well, what is the problem?”

“Well…you see sir…” Bush was truly floundering now. Hornblower had never seen him this anxious, in all the years he had known him. His demeanor softened slightly. He cursed himself for being weak, but knew that it was the only way to get Bush to speak.

“Mr. Bush, kindly explain.”

Bush sighed audibly and stepped away from Hornblower, bringing Hoffbrau closer as he did so. Hornblower’s patience was dwindling again. Without warning, and in one swift motion, Bush ripped Hoffbrau’s shirt from his chest. Hornblower could not contain first his surprise at the sudden action, then his fury at what his eyes beheld.  
A bandage was wound tightly around Hoffbrau’s torso, but it was very clear that its purpose was anything but medical. Hornblower was speechless. For several seconds, nobody said a word. The silence was deafening; even the sounds of the ship were muted by the blood pumping in Hornblower’s ears. It was Bush who finally spoke.

“Hoffbrau, sir….She’s a woman.”

Hornblower found his voice.

“I can see that, Mr. Bush!” he barked.

Hoffbrau said nothing, just stared stoically forward, neither meeting nor avoiding her superiors’ eyes.

“Well. Mr- er – Ms. Hoffbrau. What have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing, sir.” Even her voice seemed now to betray her; Hornblower wondered why he’d never noticed its soft femininity before.

“Nothing, Ms. Hoffbrau?”

“No, sir.”

Hornblower looked her over once more. Still she remained impassive, no outward indication of the horrible anxiety that must be bubbling inside of her. She had committed the crime of a impersonating an officer, and for that, the Articles of War had only one punishment.

“Very well, Mr. Bush. Thank you. If you would kindly leave us. “

Bush looked pained at the idea of not being involved in so high profile a case, but he, of course, said nothing of the sort.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Oh, and Mr. Bush, you are not to utter a word of this to anyone. Is that clear?” Hornblower bit back the threat of flogging that seemed appropriate to the situation. He knew that Bush did not need a warning to obey his order.

“Aye aye, sir.” Bush touched his hat and retreated up the causeway back to the quarterdeck.

Hornblower sat nonchalantly behind his desk, choosing for a moment to ignore the problem standing before him. He inhaled deeply, forcing his thoughts to clear on the matter.

“Do you know how serious this is, Ms. Hoffbrau?”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes had not strayed from the knot in the wood above Hornblower’s desk since she entered the cabin.

“You will be court martialed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Her proud obeisance both annoyed and awed him. Her stoic manner was reminiscent of his own.

“Ms. Hoffbrau-” Hornblower sighed, and instantly hated himself for his display of weakness. In his younger years, he would never have shown her his doubts on the matter. He would have spoken harshly, perhaps even raised his voice, and had her flogged. No, not flogged. Flogging was too public. And indeed one of Hornblower’s least favourite punishments. The way the cat turned a man’s back into bloody ribbons gave him shudders. But he certainly would not have spoken to her as softly as he spoke these next words.

“Ms. Hoffbrau. Is that your real name?” His eyes turned on her, paternal, concerned. Her hard mask softened a tad, a bit of moisture forming in the corners of her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was thick, filled with barely controlled emotion.

“No, sir.”

“I suspected as much. Your name, please?”

She swallowed hard. “Schleicher, sir. Sophie.”

“A German?” At this, the paternal glint wavered a little. The Germans were still allied with Napoleon. She could very well be a spy, something that, despite his growing fondness for her, he could not tolerate.

“No, sir. My grandfather was German. A refugee, sent to England. My parents were born and raised English, as was I.” That speech was the longest she’d made since being found out. Hornblower could tell that he was breaking down her defenses.

“I see,” he said. “And just how did you end up as a midshipman aboard the Porta Coeli?”

“You appointed me, sir.” Hornblower knew that part, of course, and found himself irritated with her obvious answer. But he continued smoothly, masking his frustrations.

“I appointed Mr. James Hoffbrau.”

She swallowed again. It seemed as habitual to her as shrugging was to a Frenchman.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you are not, so far as I can tell, James Hoffbrau. You are Sophie Schleicher, origin unknown. Please, enlighten me.” He let his voice soften a bit again on these last words, realizing that he begun to drop back into his callous commodore tone.

She took a deep breath, now intentionally avoiding his eyes.

“Ms. Schleicher, please, sit.” He stood and walked over to where she was, took her hand in his gently, and lead her to the chair in front of his desk. Once she was seated, he resumed his seat opposite her.

“What’s to become of me?” She spoke just barely above a whisper, nearly to herself.

“That will depend on your cooperation now, Ms. Schleicher.”

She faced him suddenly, startled, as if she had not intended for him to hear her words. For the first time, she allowed her eyes to meet his. The poor girl looked absolutely terrified now. Her face was still an impassive mask, but her eyes, now glazing over with tears, were betraying the fear and despair warring within her. Her hands sat folded in her lap. Hornblower envied how still they were. He found himself wringing his hands whenever troubled. But while they were still, he could still see the beads of sweat beginning to form on them.

“Ms. Schleicher. I have a hard time believing that after all you have seen aboard this ship-” He paused for a moment; he had been thinking, of course, of the small, dank quarters and the horrors of war, but a jet of heat ran up his spine as he realized that she had seen him bathe naked under the water pump. He shook the thought from his head. “I cannot believe that you would willingly put yourself in such a position. This is not the place for a lady, as you well know.”

“I chose this life!” It was clear that his words had ruffled her feathers. “England is my country just as much as it is yours!”

The sudden ferocity with which she spoke startled Hornblower as much as it pleased him to know that he was getting under her skin.

“And that is why you impersonated an officer of His Royal Majesty’s Navy-”

“I am an officer of His Majesty’s Navy. Sir.” She spat the last word at him, using it to mock his station above her. She was treading on dangerous ground, and she knew it. Hornblower watched her expression change from one of ferocious contempt back to the serenely impassive mask she had worn before as it slowly dawned on her that such a show in the face of a superior officer, particularly that of a commodore, could see her dancing the yardarm jig even sooner than the other charges certain to be brought against her.

Hornblower asked his question again. “It is for love of King and country that you are out here risking your life?” The paternal glimmer was back. Damn his soft heart. Part of him knew that if Little Maria was still alive, she would be about Ms. Schleicher’s age.

Sophie averted her eyes again. He could see she was still fighting down emotion, and the battle had become a heated one. She nodded nearly imperceptibly. It was certainly true, at least in part, that a spur of nationalism had brought her here. But she could not bring herself to tell him that that was not the only, nor truly even the primary, motive behind her actions. Her pride prevented her from saying just what the commodore meant to her. She had kept copies of every Naval Gazette in which he was mentioned, had his letters and reports from back before she had even been born. He was her hero, the greatest man who had ever lived, and she had risked everything for the chance to serve under him. And now, here she was, her life and existence hanging dangerously in the palm of his hand.

“Yes, sir,” was all she could manage.

Hornblower nodded and leaned back in his chair, studying her. He didn’t know what it was that kept him from putting her in irons. No, in fact, he did, but he refused to admit it to himself. He was now a commodore. Twenty years at sea should have made him hard, ruthless, arrogant to a fault. But he was fond of this young girl and found a fatherly glimmer of pride in what she had achieved. She had been at sea for six months, surrounded by 400 men, poor conditions, half rations, bloody battles. And yet, it wasn’t until now that she had been discovered. Hornblower sat back up upon the realization that he was unaware as to how that had come about.

“How is it that you were discovered, Ms. Schleicher?”

Again, she did not answer him readily. She inhaled deeply, then focused her eyes on the knot in the wood again. "I needed a bath, sir."

"A bath?" He almost laughed despite of himself. "A bath?" he repeated. "Six months on board, and you had not needed a bath until now?"

"It isn't like that, sir." She looked thoroughly uncomfortable now. "I have bathed before, sir." The hands that had been almost inhumanly still until this point began to wring in her lap.

"I see. So a sailor, presumably Captain Bush, stumbled upon you whilst you were bathing, then?"

Her gaze darted to the low ceiling of the cabin, then to her hands in her lap. "N-not exactly, sir."

Hornblower was thoroughly perplexed now.

"Then how, exactly, were you discovered?"

He tapped his finger on the desk impatiently.

"It...it is improper for me to say, sir." She swallowed hard. "But...suffice it to say that Captain Bush thought me to be bleeding from a wound."

Her face blazed scarlet, and it suddenly dawned on Hornblower what she was talking about. It was her very womanhood that had gotten her discovered.

"Ha- h'm." He uttered the non-committal phrase that he had all but abandoned since Barbara had teased him about it. "I...understand, Ms. Schleicher. Did the surgeon see you?"

"No, sir. I insisted to Captain Bush that I was just fine. I told him it was a splinter, sir, but he didn't believe me. And then..."

It was clear to Hornblower what "and then" would lead to. Now that he had the story, all that remained was to decide what to do with her. All at once, he drew up to as great a height as the low ceiling would allow and made for the companionway.

"Send for Captain Bush!"

Within moments, Bush came hurtling into the cabin with as much dignity as he could muster in his excitement to be once again involved.

"Yes, sir?"

"Ms. Schleicher is to continue in her role as midshipman, Mr. Bush. As Mr. Hoffbrau, of course. We cannot afford to let the men know that there is a woman in their midst. It has been six months since they have seen a woman, and you know what effect that can have on them."

"Yes, sir." Bush knew the commodore's words to be true, but resented them nonetheless. "But sir-"

"No one is to know of this outside of the party here assembled, is that clear Mr. Bush?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, then. Mr. Hoffbrau!"

"Yes, sir?" She stood up quickly, her menial height being no encumbrance, even in the cramped cabin.

"Return to your duties. I expect great improvement from you."

"Aye aye, sir." She almost smiled as she passed him on the companionway.

Once she had gone, Bush made to voice his opinion yet again.

"Sir, with all due respect, she has violated the Articles of War. Masquerading as a man. What nonsense!" Bush was getting himself worked up into a frenzy.

"Mr. Bush, you are, of course, quite right. But there is nothing to be done about it as of yet. You are to remain silent about Mr. Hoffbrau until further notice. That is a direct order."

Bush sighed. "Aye aye, sir."

"Good then."

Hornblower stood and lead the way on to the quarterdeck.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


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